


Under the mistletoe

by hobgoblin123



Category: Coldfire Trilogy - C. S. Friedman
Genre: Amazing Grace (song), Christmas/Yule fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, kissing under the mistletoe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-23
Updated: 2015-12-23
Packaged: 2018-05-06 00:48:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5396522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hobgoblin123/pseuds/hobgoblin123
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The title says it all...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Under the mistletoe

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I neither own the Coldfire Trilogy nor 'Amazing Grace’, one of my all-time-favourite songs. 
> 
> A/N: In honour of the season, I decided to post this little fic written in 2011 once again, in a slightly revised version. Merry X-mas and a happy new year to all of you!

_Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound,_  
_That saved a wretch like me._  
_I once was lost but now am found,_  
_Was blind, but now I see._

Once again pondering the revelations which had been sprung upon him on Black Ridge Pass a few months ago, Damien sighed into his glass of stout. For a moment he had believed the spoiled, black-haired brat, had believed because he had _wanted_ to believe with all his heart that the ridiculous fairy tale told by the pretty youth contained at least a small grain of truth. He had been a complete and utter fool. Only God knew who the stranger actually was, but certainly not Gerald Tarrant. No, as much as he wished otherwise, the Neocount of Merentha had met his fate at the hands of his last living descendant; he had better come to terms with that painful truth at long last and find a life again, something his deceased friend against all odds would certainly have expected from him.

Blinking back the moisture gathering in his eyes, Vryce tried to pull himself together. Tears came so easily to him since the adept's demise, another change wrought by the strange events which had forever closed the path to his old life. Nowadays, it seemed that he was solely occupied with mourning and regretting the grave mistakes he had made, the worst of them undoubtedly deserting Gerald in the bowels of his keep. Up to his dying day he wouldn’t be able to forget the dead, empty eyes staring at him in wordless accusation, a memory which haunted him in his waking hours and in his fitful sleep alike.

Shivering in spite of the heat of the blazing fire, the former priest downed another large swig of his beverage. Try as he might, he couldn’t get warm these days, and sometimes he suspected that ice water instead of warm, living blood was running in his veins, a ridiculous shortcoming for a man who had battled deadly snowstorms beyond the boundaries of human imagination on more than one occasion. Still drifting aimlessly after all those months, coping by means of an odd job or two when his money got scarce, only a pale shadow of the vigorous, stout-hearted warrior he had been once had survived Tarrant's utterly pointless death and the loss of his vocation, and his greying hair made him feel even more than a useless old dodderer.

The merry customers of the Three Horseshoes erupted into another cheerful Yuletide song while a couple of overworked, sweating barmaids served plates filled to the brim with roast and mashed nupotatoes. Apparently, not all ancient Earth customs had been forgotten, and in the wake of the taming of the fae they were regaining ground. The inn's common room was festively decorated with garlands of evergreens and wooden bowls containing nuts and fruits, and the rich, spicy scent of mulled wine was thick in the air. Some well-meaning soul had even hung an Ernan substitute for good old Earth’s famous mistletoe above the door, and if his heart hadn't been so heavy, Damien might have smiled about the blushing, giggling and kissing taking place under the much too innocent looking devious little plant.

Obviously the ‘mistletoe’ hadn’t lost any of the matchmaking proficiency it had once supposedly possessed on their mother planet, and Vryce didn't doubt that the better part of the inebriated guests would spend the rest of the bitter cold night in a warm bed and an even warmer embrace. The thought was surprisingly painful, and his chest constricted around the forlorn scream he’d been fighting down for months now, together with a tangled knot of emotions he wasn't altogether keen on exploring too closely.

Rapidly approaching the limits of his endurance, he got up to pay his bill at the bar, desperate for some solitude. Self sufficient by nature, he had never felt so alone and alienated from human society before, a notion that oddly enough seemed to increase tenfold when trying to mix with a crowd. _It's simply the wrong company, Vryce,_ a jarringly insistent voice piped up at the back of his mind. _Why don't you get it over with and admit that you miss that arrogant, vain son of a bitch much more than it's good for you?_ But it was too late to sort out his feelings toward Tarrant, anyway, had been too late since he had witnessed his severed head being tossed into a bonfire like a piece of rubbish. The one thing left to him was praying for the redemption of his companion’s immortal soul and God’s forgiveness for his own manifold sins.

A smaller guy might have waited till doomsday to clear a path through the bustling crowd yelling for drinks and snacks, but his still considerable bulk and the sword of his Order strapped to his back were clearly an advantage. As soon as he had received his change, the warrior knight headed for the door, too deeply lost in thought to realize that it had already been pushed open from the outside. Before he could stop himself, he bumped right into the newcomer entering the Three Horseshoes along with an icy gust of wind. His snow-covered hood was pushed back by the force of their collision, and when Damien saw who the man he very nearly had run down was, he forgot how to breathe.

Eyes as dark as the freezing winter night met his hazel ones, their pupils dilated with the same shock that turned his own legs into jelly. The _youth_ was still as comely as he remembered him from Black Ridge Pass, the delicate bones of his face perfectly proportioned and his olive-coloured skin no less flawless than the Prince of Jahanna's had been in an era now the stuff of legends. A dagger thrust to the gut couldn't have been more painful than this unexpected encounter, and for a moment the warrior knight could neither speak nor still a limb, just stood there as if rooted to the spot and stared, every racing heartbeat a hammer blow against his ribs.

_Vryce_? Ever so carefully, a presence touched his mind, well-known and yet so different that he could barely grasp the implications of what was happening. As was to be expected, faint remnants of darkness were still lurking in the hidden recesses of the ancient soul linked with him by a bond which had been forged in blood and fear, but there was none of the vile, repulsive corruption he had learned to associate with his undead companion. Instead of the Hunter's inhuman detachment, his malevolence and sadistic cruelty, the channel revealed stark panic, mixed with a small flicker of hope and, to his astonishment, a desperate longing that matched his own.

The wild surge of relief welling up inside him almost swept Damien off his feet in the most literal sense of the word, and slender hands closed tighter around his upper arms in order to steady him. However improbable it might sound, just as he had suggested roundabout fifteen weeks ago, the youth had to be a new incarnation of Gerald Tarrant; the reactivated link left no doubt about it. Maybe he should have taken into consideration that the adept usually had an ace or two up his sleeve and had dragged his cunning butt out of more than one tight spot in all the long years of his existence.

“Through many dangers, toils and snares, I have already come; ‘Tis Grace that brought me safe thus far and Grace will lead me home.”

Apparently, the atmosphere had changed from cheery frolicking to a more contemplative mood, and hearing the words of that old, powerful Earth song, praising God’s mercy on a wretched sinner, the barrier which had somehow shielded Vryce from the true reason for his despair crumbled into dust. Overwhelmed by his emotions, he wrapped his arms around the man he had gone to hell and back for and sobbed into his black strands of hair as if his heart were breaking.

The adept froze, his breath hitching in his throat, and for a split second the tiny part of Damien's brain still able to think coherently wondered whether he had just made the most foolish mistake in his whole life. But suddenly Gerald, or whichever alias he had adopted in order to sever any connections to his past, yielded to his embrace with a small, resigned sigh, his breath puffing warmly against his wet cheeks. At first he hesitated, evidently unsure how to proceed, but then he gingerly returned the hug, very much in the manner of an uncat testing the waters with one tentative paw. His reluctance to allow physical contact was so utterly familiar that the warrior knight smiled through his tears.

“Stop crying, _Damien_. Please.” Completely taken aback by the former Hunter calling him by his given name, something that had happened only once or twice before, Vryce threw him a questioning glance. The adept looked distinctly touched, an expression he had never witnessed on him before, and although the single drop of moisture on his right cheek might just as well have been nothing more dramatic than a melting snow flake, the dark eyes had a strange gleam to them in the candlelight that made his heart leap with joy. Maybe, just maybe...

Gerald tilted back his head, and a sardonic smile appeared on his lips. Following his line of sight, he realized that they were standing right under the 'mistletoe', whatever its Ernan true name. He'd never been good at botany, and at present he certainly wasn't interested in broadening his knowledge. Not when he was much to busy with admiring the silky softness of the 'youth's' hair he had somehow wound his fingers into and the way those hypnotic eyes were sparkling with amusement and no small amount of mischief.

“Don’t you agree that it’s about time for us to honour a dignified Earth tradition, Vryce?”

“’Just so', somebody I knew well would have said," the warrior knight murmured huskily. “I’ve always been a traditional guy.”

A delicately arched eyebrow shot upwards, but any fitting retort the adept might have had in mind was forever lost when his mouth was sealed with a kiss. At one point in what felt like a small eternity of sheer bliss Damien heard bells tolling from far away, and he dazedly wondered whether it was already midnight or the sound was just a side-effect of lack of oxygen, combined with a bad case of hormonal overkill. But all in all, with Gerald's lithe frame pressing ever closer against his bulk as if he wanted to merge with him, a not altogether bad idea as far as he was concerned, and a warm, so very human hand straying under his shirt, he couldn't have cared less. 

When they finally managed to let go of each other, they traded a solemn glance, well aware that another kind of bond had been formed that Yuletide evening. A link between hearts, sealed not with blood this time but with desire and love. Hand in hand they stepped out into the cold winter night and a new beginning.


End file.
